Teeth of Ink

To guide this month's new moon meditation, a story:

It is the eve of Election Day, an event the aspirant currently stargazing past curfew has awaited for as long as she can remember. Tomorrow students finally have their chance to formally choose a specialized course of continued study, truly beginning the path they have all gathered here for years of education to undertake.

The month of her election is auspicious – containing by chance two full moons, one at each end – but, as it is the middle of the month, she thinks this is hardly relevant. Truly advantageous is the moon's absence this night, as the heightened darkness serves as cover from the constantly watching eyes of the wandering Overseers, who are especially active in anticipation of tomorrow's festivities.

Though she could never confirm any details, the Overseers seem to play some crucial role in the election process. These mysterious hermits occasionally gather from surrounding mountainsides and forests to bestow titles and favors on holy days. It is their routine of convening in this location that led to the founding of the school here long ago, and the authority of the Overseers is beyond question among the school's aspirants.

The tradition of meditating quietly the night before election resulted in a strict curfew, but she's never felt truly grounded and quiet indoors. As she sees it, she needs a view of the sky to fulfill the spirit of the tradition's mandate. She reminds herself of this technical adherence to the rule as she ducks into an alcove to avoid the sweeping gaze of a looming Overseer, incredibly tall yet preternaturally graceful as it glides past her hiding spot.

Miraculously undetected, she exhales deeply with relief just as a small scroll falls from somewhere above her, landing squarely in her left hand. She thinks she hears her own name as the scroll falls into her palm, but all she can see above is a dark circle in the clear night sky. She unfurls the scroll.

Heed well the wisest path: Hasten not to spill ink, but attend its rhythms.

Some sort of riddle? She tucks the paper into a pocket concealed in her right sleeve and decides, whatever it means, it's surely a sign that there is too much activity outside tonight for her to meditate as planned. Instead, she returns to her sleeping quarters and ponders the words on the strange sky-borne scroll as she drifts to sleep.

Heed well the wisest path...

The words echo in her mind as she starts awake to the sound of strange music in the air. An invisible chorus resounds throughout the dormitory as it enters from every open window. Unwilling to risk missing the day's rites, she springs from her bed and dons her finest ceremonial robes, keeping the cryptic scroll tucked in her right sleeve for luck.

First in a line of dozens, she steadies herself with a deep breath as the veil separating the ceremonial space parts and she is ushered into a large open space. Although she is certain it is midday and the door through which she has just passed should lead to the center of the school, she now finds herself in an open plain under a night sky. A slight earthen dome peaks at the space's center. She looks around to find the circle is inscribed by a dozen equally spaced doors standing in frames with no visible support.

She passes through a stone arch flanked by two torches. To her right, a robed Overseer waits, silently lifting a long silver ladle from a large iron cauldron and indicating she is to hold out her hand. She reverently complies, and the Overseer tips a pleasantly warm, shiny black, viscous liquid into her palm.

Ink! The strange words from the scroll spring to the forefront of her mind, and she proceeds along the path to the mound's center very carefully, minding the gentle incline lest she stumble and spill her ink. She ponders what it might mean to attend the ink's rhythms, and decides to pay close attention to how her fellow aspirants receive and handle their handfuls. Some clearly receive more ink, others less, all at the whim of the Overseer distributing it.

She also notes several Overseers sliding into position near various doors around the circle and one standing directly atop the mound's apex. Most are holding large tomes with brilliant silver sigils embossing their covers. Temporarily mesmerized by the beautiful books, her gaze returns to her left palm just in time to notice her ink shifting slightly as if moving with some tidal force.

Before she can formulate any hypotheses about what could be causing this movement, the central Overseer begins speaking in a booming, monotonous voice, addressing everyone assembled.

"Today your years of study will finally bear fruit. The wisdom you have acquired is but half of what you need to move forward. We have graced you with the other half: the ink now in your hands."

The Overseer lifts their own left hand, itself containing a well of ink.

"The doors that surround this sacred circle are the first steps to all that awaits you, and you already hold their keys. As you intone the name of the sigil appearing on each door, some of the ink you possess will take a new shape: the perfectly formed teeth of that door's key."

Demonstrating, the Overseer makes a deep guttural tone that makes half of the watching aspirants spill some of their ink in surprise. Ink rises up in the Overseer's palm like a charmed serpent, steadily taking more definite shape until it settles into a solid black key.

"Those of you who have not committed to memory the names of all the runes and signs will be pleased to find vendors available with instructional texts conveniently located near each door. For the small fee of half your ink, one of these books will greatly simplify your coming journey."

She watches as most of her peers make their way to doors that have appeared in their dreams since time immemorial. Several whose strengths have never included familiarity with the names of the old symbols extend their hands to the hovering Overseers dangling their alluring books.

Though she knows many of the old tongues by heart, she feels the scroll in her sleeve and chooses to observe patiently rather than rush to put her ink to work. Standing perfectly still and keeping one eye on her left palm, she watches as the ink's tidal shifts definitely correspond to the movements of the Overseers. It seems to gather, rising along whichever of her hand's shores is furthest from the nearest Overseer, as if fleeing the imposing guides.

Never is this more pronounced than when one of the Overseers approaches her, coming close enough that she has to crane her neck to look up into the shadowy hooded region where their face surely is. The ink practically tries to leap out of her palm away from the robed figure as they address her in a steady, high-pitched tone.

"The mysteries of the full moon will guide you where you belong. Half of what would fully go to waste without this Ancient wisdom is a fair price, traveler. Just look at the moon's brilliance. Surely it is an omen to follow my path."

Lifting a massive book whose cover features a full silver moon up toward the night sky, the Overseer waits expectantly for her assent.

"No. Thank you, Wise One." While the book is very pretty, she has studied well the mysteries of the moon, and has not forgotten – despite the shiny silver moon of the Overseer's pricey book – that the moon is dark tonight. This gives her pause in accepting the words of the Overseer, as their true meaning may not be immediately apparent to her.

Appearing somehow disappointed despite revealing no face, the Overseer drifts away, and the pool of ink settles evenly in her palm.

Most of her peers disappear behind their elected doors, soon too far from the circle's torchlight on this moonless night to be seen. Their continued intonations travel back to her, indicating that those surrounding the ritual circle are not the only doors requiring magically intoned keys.

Eventually, she feels another gentle tug of tidal movement in her palm and fears based on its direction that an Overseer is approaching her from behind. She carefully checks over her shoulder, but is surprised to see a tall robed officiant approach her from the front, the ink rising to meet the approaching stranger rather than shying away from them.

She braces for another sales pitch. Instead, the tall figure lowers her hood and gazes down curiously with a face not unlike that of the young aspirant. "You still have all your ink!" she says with a voice full of surprise. "Well done!"

"Thank you, Wise One. How would you advise I use it?"

"Oh, I wouldn't!" she laughs jovially. "If you want my advice – and don't assume you do – see how long you can hold onto it. This place has its ways of taking it from you before you learn what it's worth. It will require focus not to drop your hand, but there is a truth to this place that you must witness for yourself before you lose what you possess." Without waiting for a response, the comparatively personable Overseer glides off into the shadows out of sight.

Committed to observing until she is confident she understands the full consequences of engaging with these strange rites, she stands resolute near the circle's center, prepared to hold her palm steady until dawn. Time's passage becomes as murky as the ink she so carefully holds, but more hours than should comprise the night come and go with no sunrise. Instead, she notices the moon has shifted its position and is slightly more illuminated than it was when the ceremony began.

As the moon waxes its way to fullness over what must have been days despite no appearance by the sun, she steadies her left hand with her right arm, using all her strength not to waste a drop of ink. Different Overseers offering different books approach, including the Overseer with the familiar full moon text. Though the moon shifts through several phases while she stands firm, the Overseer's pitch – including the reference to the full moon – remains the same each time. It's as if they lack the ink to compose new scripts for themselves.

She hears many persuasive arguments to elect one door or another and she admires many beautiful books, but always the ink in her palm directs her away from the Overseers and their magical promises. Also returning regularly is the Overseer who bares her face, never demanding anything of her, but encouraging her to continue.

As the moon's light increases, the range of her vision also expands and she sees further along some of the paths beyond the doors. Many doors are scattered as far as her eyes can see along each of the paths, though they do not extend, as she might have imagined, straight outward. Rather, several of the paths seem to converge just a few doors past their starting points.

When the moon returns to fullness, she spots a former fellow student far along their own curving path. She can almost make out a hoarse sound as a small clump of ink rises from their palm and evaporates. The door they face swings open and black chains emerge, quickly binding the traveler who has run out of ink and pulling them within. Though what should be the other side of the door frame is visible, they do not appear there after being pulled through.

She gasps in shock and confusion. What could this mean? The only Overseer she can confirm has a face suddenly appears. "I know it's awful. But you had to see it for yourself, what all this really is."

Still deeply confused, she responds, "what happened to them? They followed instructions and stayed on their path. They used all their ink just as they were told. What went wrong?"

"Nothing went wrong. When someone uses all of the ink they are allotted, their contract is finalized. The different doors and books promise freedom, but speaking the tones to open a series of them weaves a binding oath."

The gentle Overseer looks sadly around the circle. "One sound at a time, it can be easy not to notice what we're being told to say, but here, our words form a continuous chain. Connected to the one whose name the traveler vacantly recites, the chains bind and extract everything of value from the misguided. Once an Overseer has elected them, they can only hum their master's name, never making another sound."

Finding the courage to approach each of the Overseers around the circle in turn, the patient aspirant discovers that beneath their hoods are masks. No heads, no faces, only masks. It seems most of the once imposing Overseers have been scripted automatons of some kind all along.

Knowing more than she ever hoped, yet less than ever before, she gazes into the reflective surface of the black ink still in her palm and sings her own name. Instead of rising from her palm in a thin tube with protruding angled teeth, the entirety of her ink rises as a sphere hovering before her. She pulls the scroll whose words helped guide her from her sleeve and offers it to the floating spherical portal. The scroll disappears through the small orb with a melodic resounding of her name.

She faces a black sun rising above the horizon as she takes a deep breath and whistles a happy tune, electing to blaze her own trail from here forward.

Sometimes what seem like our own choices are not truly ours, but the echoes of choices made by others. Even so, our word is our bond, whether or not we understand our words' full weight when we speak them.

There are those who would entrust us with the means of our own destruction, intending from the outset to profit from our failure. Genuine guides who recommend extensive observation, on the other hand, can direct patient students to insights that may prevent a lifetime or more of regret.

Consider sacrificing a little time this month to sitting in quiet observation. Perhaps invite the wisdom to see what has become so routine as to go essentially unseen. Once we identify patterns, we can begin to challenge them and consider alternative paths forward.

Materials
Mirror: I recommend using a black mirror or minimizing the light in your meditation space. Alternatively, having a clear view of the night sky allows the New Moon to serve as your black mirror.

Setup
Select a safe, private place where you can comfortably sit or lie down with a clear view of your chosen mirror.

Peek ahead at the Declaration of Purpose. Decide what you intend to offer along with your invitation of wisdom. It could be your presence, your thoughts, your time – you'll certainly be sacrificing all these by participating in the meditation – but you may also dedicate particular acts of generosity or cleverness completed prior to the meditation, perhaps drawing the attention of a source of wisdom more given to such qualities themself.

Opening
Vocalize an audible hum while visualizing a sphere of light taking shape around your ritual space.

Declaration of Purpose
"I come to offer ... and to invite the wisdom of darkness and silence."

Offering
Direct your offering to the black mirror. Visualize the efforts, the energy, you dedicated in your Declaration condensed into a mist that you blow towards your mirror. Breathing steadily, continue exhaling your offering to the mirror, allowing your thoughts to come and go without resistance, for at least six exhalations.

The Hollow Temple
On your offering's final exhale, pause before inhaling again. Focus your attention on the gap between breaths. Breathe in, and out again. Pause and contemplate before repeating. Holding fast to the feeling you find between breaths, breathe in and out again six times, now filling the gaps before each inhale with a silent invitation. Set aside this empty space for the wisdom you seek, so it will have an appealing and well kept place to make its home.

Closing
Rest your eyes on the mirror and take three slow, deep breaths, exhaling swiftly between each inhalation.
Vocalize an audible hum, gradually decreasing in volume as you visualize the sphere surrounding your ritual space dissipating.

Though you breathe in Darkness, you do not breathe alone.